Then she jumped, hearing laughter behind her.
Turning, she found Frédérique, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. For a moment, she didn’t recognise him. He was dressed smartly in tailored trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, revealing – to her surprise – pretty impressive biceps previously invisible under his shapeless overalls. His brown hair was brushed and had clearly benefited from a little gel, and his beard seemed tidier than it had yesterday – perhaps he’d trimmed it? He flashed his annoyingly infectious smile at her again and, again, she found herself grinning in return.
‘Oh! Hello!’ she said. ‘I mean, bonjour, I didn’t… vous êtes un surprise!’
‘C’est une surprise,’ he corrected. ‘Surprises, they are feminine.’
Seeing as he’d made her jump out of her skin twice in two days, and was unequivocally male, she wanted to dispute this. But she knew better than to argue with the strict rules of French grammar.
‘Oh, une surprise,’ she said. Then, ‘What?’ she asked as she saw his eyes still twinkling with amusement.
‘It iz nothing. Just… en France we do not ask le cows for the directions,’ he said, with amusement. ‘Zey are not so good weeth the map reading, huh?’
‘Very funny,’ she said, feeling completely out of her depth. She wondered what this man – head of the police, top official of the local town – must think of her. First trespassing and now speaking to a herd of cattle. ‘I was just…’ She trailed off, unable to explain exactly what she had been doing. ‘Is this the right place,’ she said instead, ‘for the notaire?’
‘Oui, c’est là,’ he said, gesturing to one of the houses.
By the ordinary-looking front door, she now noticed a tiny plaque, flashing gold in the sunlight. A business premises.
‘Oh,’ she said, feeling, as usual, on the back foot. She wanted to ask him where he’d come from and how he’d managed to appear out of nowhere on a seemingly deserted country road just seconds after she’d pulled up. But as he already thought she was either a criminal or completely mad, she decided to leave that particular question for another time.
They walked together over the half cobbled, half muddy ground and as they approached she could clearly see the lettering on the plaque which read:
M. Jean-Jaques Berger, Notaire
They pushed open the black-painted door to find themselves in what looked like an ordinary house and she was glad, then, that Frédérique was at her side. Without him, she’d have assumed she’d come to the wrong place, despite the plaque, and that she’d walked accidentally into someone’s hallway.
Frédérique then opened a door to their left which revealed a small, cluttered room with a woman sitting at a desk. Its surface, the surrounding floor and several of the chairs that lined the room were covered in manila files and the room smelled suspiciously of cigarettes.
‘Bonjour, Florence!’ Frédérique beamed, and, seeing him, the woman stood up and held both of his hands as they kissed each other’s cheeks.
He introduced Lily and the pair of them were directed to sit on two of the chairs, which spilled their foam filling through cracks in the leather. Minutes later, a man entered, clutching a backpack under his arm.
‘Bonjour,’ he said to Florence, then took his place on a chair next to Lily without being directed. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said to Lily. ‘Always get lost around here. I’m Chris.’ He put out his hand and she automatically extended hers for a shake.
‘You’re the…’
‘The translator, yes,’ he said. He placed his backpack heavily on the floor, then removed his glasses and cleaned them on a corner of his shirt. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, ‘had another signing this morning already over in Eymoutiers, and barely made it.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, not knowing what else to say. ‘You’re English?’
‘Welsh.’
‘Right. Well, nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ he replied. Then, ‘So, do you know what happens next?’ he added in a low whisper.
‘Not really,’ she admitted.
‘Well, there’s a lot of legal jargon, of course. The notaire will see us in a minute and we’ll read through all the paperwork. He’ll go through a number of clauses, and I’ll explain anything you don’t understand. Then you’ll sign…’ He leaned his head close to hers as if imparting state secrets, his hair, fashioned in too spiky a style for his age, drooping in response to the additional gravity.